


all children are sad

by axebastard



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axebastard/pseuds/axebastard
Summary: "Sometimes... Sometimes I just wanna die." The admission was like an overdue gasp for air. Sometimes he just wanted to die. Was that so wrong?
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	all children are sad

**Author's Note:**

> title from "a sad child" by margaret atwood

When Tyler turned eleven, he started having these terrible thoughts. Horrible flashes of violence, like a slasher movie he never signed up for. Sometimes the violence was directed at himself, and sometimes at other people. He couldn't even begin to process it. How could he? He was a kid. 

So like any scared child, he went to his mom. Let her in on his dirty, scary secret. Surely she would make it go away.

_Please, Mama, make it go away._

"Just trust in God, baby," Mrs. Joseph told him, squeezing his hand. "He'll take care of you."

Tyler wanted to believe her. Really, he did. But the thoughts just kept coming and going on their own terms, weaseling their way into his neurons and setting up shop. And when Tyler's mom noticed this, noticed his persistent neurosis, she got frustrated. She sat him down and said, "I don't know what to tell you, Tyler. Really, I don't. Please just snap out of it."

Tyler had never wanted to snap out of something so bad in his life. But he couldn't, so he faked the snap instead. Next best thing, right? Because at least somebody (see: his mom) was happy.

He maintained that veneer of normality for three years before blood started soaking through the band-aid.

Eighth grade. The school counselor showed up to his English class and gave them all a lecture on mental health awareness. Ended it by passing out one of those surveys.

"Be honest," she told them, and Tyler thought, _Fuck it._

Less than an hour later he was sitting in the counselor's office, terrified. 

"Are you gonna call my mom?"

"I plan on it, yes."

"Do you have to?" Tyler asked. His mouth was dry.

"I think it's important she knows."

"Okay."

She dismissed him, but rather than heading back to class, he made a beeline for the nearest bathroom so he could throw up. As if his body was desperately trying to eject whatever was making him this way. 

Maybe there was still time to become whole.

Once Tyler finished emptying his stomach, he trudged back to class in a daze and sat down at his desk. A few minutes passed before he felt a tap on his shoulder; when he turned to look, he found himself peering into the earnest brown eyes of the kid sitting behind him.

"Are you okay?" asked the kid, and some small, secret part of Tyler was soothed by his concern. If only for a moment.

"Yeah. I'll be okay."

The conversation between Tyler and his mother went about as well as you'd expect.

_You're not messed up, not like that. Not like other people. Don't say that. Don't say that. Shut up._

Tyler shut up. He shut up for four more years. An impressive length of time, considering the burden.

Senior year. He was at a party, nodding along to some girl's drunken rant. Things were fine, and then they weren't. A ringing started in his ears, soft at first and then louder, louder, louder, until her voice was totally lost in the noise. Everything was lost. It was just him and the hum of his disorder, and he couldn't stand it. Not anymore.

"'Scuse me," he mumbled to the girl, squeezing past her and heading for the back door.

The air outside was cool, and still, and indifferent. Hands shoved in his sweatshirt pocket, Tyler wandered out into the backyard, waiting for the noise to subside. His breath formed puffs of dragon smoke. 

Had he been clenching his jaw all his life?

"Are you okay?"

Tyler turned to look like he had all those years before, and sure enough, the same earnest brown eyes were looking back at him.

"Not really," Tyler admitted, because he didn't feel like lying. Not right then. Not to this boy and his sweet, worried face.

"I'm sorry," said the boy, and it seemed like he meant it. "My name's Josh."

"Tyler."

"I know."

"Creep."

Josh shook his head, smiling. He had green hair. "It's not like that, man, I swear. I've just seen you around a lot."

Tyler nodded, because Josh didn't seem like the stalker type. But he _did_ seem like the type to give good advice, which is why Tyler sighed and said, "Hey Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sad."

"That's okay," Josh said simply.

"Sometimes... Sometimes I just wanna die." The admission was like an overdue gasp for air. Sometimes he just wanted to die. Was that so wrong? "Do you ever feel like that?"

"Yeah. But I try to remember that things won't be so shitty one day."

"How do you know?"

Josh shrugged. "Just a hunch."

"What if you're wrong?" Tyler pointed out, because history had made a cynic out of him. "What if you wake up thirty years from now and still feel like garbage?"

"I won't," Josh insisted, and Tyler wished he had half the confidence.

"You make it sound so easy."

"It won't be easy. It'll be worth it, though, don't ya think?" Josh asked, casual as fucking ever, and Tyler was thinking that maybe if God wouldn't take care of him, this kid could.

"Hey Josh?" 

"Yeah?"

"Will you hold my hand?"

Josh didn't take long to think about it before saying, "Sure."

So they held hands, not too tight and not too loose, heads tilted back to observe the inky black sky. And for the first time in seven years, Tyler felt something like peace settling deep in his bones. 

He could live. 


End file.
